Taking the Shot
by MoreBonesPlz
Summary: A follow up on the end of S11E19 where Booth confronts his high school hockey rival on the ice and realizes being the victor of any conflict is often only a matter of perspective. One shot. Note rating.


**A/N:** _Happy Father's Day all!_

 _This little ditty was prompted by a post episode chat on Bonesology. Everyone liked that Booth allowed Daryl to block his penalty shot at the end of the show and commented on how obviously proud Brennan was of her husband for his actions. The discussion then devolved into speculation regarding just how Brennan might have shown Booth she was pleased and several requests were issued for a fanfic where Brennan communicates her feelings for Booth to him, in an adult manner. So, here's a fanfic to fulfill those requests with a little "M" to it. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination.

* * *

Booth sighed as he hung up the phone with Daryl Patterson after finally agreeing to meet him at the skating rink that night after work. For what had to be the first time in his life, he was actually _not_ looking forward to putting on a pair of ice skates and hitting the rink but Daryl just wouldn't give their old rivalry a rest. With a resigned shake of his head, he reached for his phone again and dialed his wife's number.

" _Brennan."_

"Hey, Bones. It's me."

" _Booth. Is everything okay? You sound . . . tired."_

"Nah, everything's fine. It's just . . . Listen, I've got to meet Daryl Patterson down at the rink tonight so I may be kinda late getting home. I just wanted to let you know so you don't hold up dinner."

" _You're referring to the equipment manager from the case we just worked? Why? Is there a question or concern about some of the evidence?"_

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's got nothing to do with the case. Daryl and I faced off over a penalty shot in a hockey game way back when we were in High School and I scored against him. He's been hounding me for a re-match ever since we crossed paths again and I think it's probably easier just to do the re-match and get it out of the way. I'm just not really sure I'm in the mood. That's all."

" _Oh. Okay. Well, I assume you have to go home to get your gear. How about if I meet you there and go to the rink with you? I can cheer you on and afterwards, we can grab a celebratory drink somewhere. I'll call Max and have him get the kids tonight."_

"You don't have to do that, Bones. It won't be very exciting. It's just a simple penalty shot and it will be all over in less than five minutes."

" _I'd like to come anyway. It'll give us a chance to spend some time together, out of the house, for a bit."_

"All right. That part actually sounds pretty nice. I'll see you at home in a bit, then. Love you, Bones."

" _I love you too, Booth."_

* * *

A couple hours later found Booth tightening up the laces on his skates before hitting the ice, still wondering why he was even there. The whole notion of a re-match was just a silly waste of time.

To be perfectly honest, he had completely forgotten all about that long ago game against NA High. It wasn't until Daryl brought it up when Booth and Aubrey showed up to ask him some routine questions as part of an ongoing murder investigation that the hazy details of that Saturday afternoon more than twenty-five years ago had bubbled to the surface of his memory.

It had been an **Extremely Important Game**. Important within the realm of the high school club ice hockey league anyway, but not really all that important to a young and cocky Seeley Booth who was more concerned with his performance on the basketball court than the ice skating rink. After all, basketball was going to provide him a ride to college via the scholarship-train, not hockey. Secure in that knowledge, Seeley Booth really hadn't cared that there'd been some college hockey team scouts in the audience or that a couple of them had been keeping their eyes on Daryl throughout the tournament.

Even though the outcome of the games weren't that important to him, Seeley Booth was a natural athlete with the typical testosterone fueled competitive drive of an eighteen-year-old-boy-who-is-trying-to-prove-he's-a-man and it _was_ the State Championships. Whenever he had the chance to be part of the action on the ice, he gave his best effort for his team. Of course, knowing Ginny Carlyle was cheering in the stands (blonde haired, long-legged, and with a perfect set of perky C-cup hooters) and that if he scored on the ice, he'd likely score again later, off the ice too, certainly helped his motivation as well during the games.

The Championship was a two day competition and like NA High, Booth's school team had had to earn their spot in the Finals by working their way up the bracket and defeating several other teams before them.

This final game between his school and NA High was closely matched, and with only about a minute left on the clock in the final period, Booth earned his penalty shot. The game was tied, 3-3 and it suddenly became a competition between Seeley Booth and Daryl Patterson. Daryl was a pretty good goalie. NA High wouldn't have made it to the Finals otherwise. But, Booth had watched a little bit of NA High's team practice the day before when they first showed up at the rink and he'd noticed that Daryl had a distinct weak spot – the 4 hole.

As the two high school rivals faced off, a tense hush fell over the rink. The audience knew this shot could mean the State Championship and it was as though everyone there was holding their breath collectively. Booth knew exactly where he wanted to send the puck, but he had to work hard to keep his eyes from focusing on that spot too long. He didn't want to telegraph his intent to Daryl. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, a sense of calm control settling over his body, and pictured his target in his mind. Distance, trajectory, power required. Then, with the cool assurance that would someday make him one of the best snipers the Army Rangers ever had, he swung his stick and took his shot.

Bulls-eye, Baby!

The raucous roaring of the crowd seemed that much louder following on the heels of the previous almost absolute silence. Booth's teammates all jumped the wall and joined him on the ice, embracing him, slapping his back, and generally cheering his performance as they reveled in their team victory.

No one on Booth's team paid any attention to Daryl Patterson as he sat slumped in the goal trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. No one on Booth's team noticed when the couple of college scouts that had been keeping an eye on Daryl stood up with the rest of the crowd and exited the rink without pausing to pursue future contact with Daryl. And later that night, when Ginny Carlyle was singing Booth's praises between shouting his name and making a number of other distinct noises that had Booth's teammates snickering like the adolescent males they were, no one gave a thought to Daryl who lay alone in his room, replaying that penalty shot over and over and over in his mind, wondering how it was no one else saw him swipe the puck away before it crossed the line like _he_ was certain he did.

After that day, Daryl Patterson thought about Seeley Booth many, many times as he watched younger and faster players come up the ranks behind him, year after year, always wondering what different course his life might've taken if Seeley Booth hadn't been given credit for scoring that goal.

After that day, Seeley Booth never thought about Daryl Patterson again.

* * *

Booth felt Brennan's hand giving him a supportive pat on his back as he stepped out into the rink. Her "Go, Booth" cheer floated out behind him as he circled the puck, taking a moment to adjust to being on skates and on the ice.

"Let's do this, Booth!" Daryl shouted, tugging his goalie mask into place and taking up his position in front of the goal.

Booth swung another wide arc around the puck then lined up behind it, ready to end this farce and banish any lingering doubts about his superiority in the game. However, just as he was about to launch his attack, he happened to glance over Daryl's shoulder and for the first time, really notice what he saw. There were over a dozen people gathered on the other side of the glass, there to cheer Daryl on. People Daryl had invited to come watch because _he_ felt this particular moment in time was important enough to share. Friends. Family. For all Booth knew, the younger ones could even be Daryl's children. Their faces were filled with anticipation and their eyes were filled with hope.

This might just be a silly re-match to Booth, but it obviously meant something much different to Daryl. Win or lose, the outcome of this shoot-out would leave a much more significant and lasting impression on Daryl than Booth. For whatever reason, he felt he had something he needed to prove, either to these people or to himself, and if Booth succeeded in scoring against him tonight, he'd be doing more than just settling an old, irrelevant controversy. He'd be destroying the self-respect and self-esteem of someone who was basically a good guy. He'd be humiliating Daryl in front of the people who were most important to him; people who had re-arranged whatever other plans they may have had for the night just to give Daryl their support. Whereas, if Daryl blocked the shot, he'd leave this arena in the arms of his loved ones with his head held high, pride intact, and able to look more to the possibilities of the future than the failures of the past when the next inevitable challenge came his way.

Booth cast a quick glance towards his wife and saw her standing there, watching him, and worrying for him – not because she gave a damn whether he actually scored a goal, but because she loved him. That's it. Pure and simple. If he wasn't happy when he left the ring tonight, then she'd be unhappy too because she'd share his disappointment – disappointment for him, not in him. Her happiness was dependent on his after all and it had taken her a long time to willingly embrace that concept and accept it.

Decision made, Booth hunched down and began to move the puck down the ice. The only noise in the ring came from the scrape of his skates against the ice and the swish of his stick as he closed in on Daryl and the goal. He cast a glance at the 4-hole, swung his stick and directed the puck somewhere else. It was a good shot. A hard shot. And it would've likely been a goal against an incompetent goalie. Daryl deflected the shot with ease and his coterie of admirers exploded in excitement, thrilled to see Daryl vanquish his childhood nemesis as he jumped up and shouted out joyously in his victory. Like a good sportsman should, Daryl turned and praised Booth for his valid effort before they bumped hockey mitts and parted ways.

Booth skated over to where his wife stood, the love and admiration she felt for him written clearly on her face.

"You lost on purpose. That wasn't the four-hole." Her words weren't a question, they were a statement of fact and they rang with pride.

Seeing the tender regard in her eyes as she watched him reaffirmed what he already knew – he'd made the right choice. Even though he hadn't scored a goal with this latest penalty shot, he knew he felt more like a winner with the way things turned out than he would've had the puck gotten by Daryl.

Booth and Brennan bickered back and forth about trivial things as they made their way back to the locker room so Booth could change out of his hockey get-up. Brennan didn't even pause, but just followed along beside him right in to the locker room. At this hour of the evening, the facility was nearly empty and Daryl and his friends would be using the locker room for the opposing team, so she wasn't worried about interrupting anyone else. For once, Booth didn't balk either, enjoying her company right then too much to care.

The locker rooms were humid and much warmer than being out by the ice. As Booth removed his helmet and gloves, storing them carefully into his duffel bag, Brennan removed her scarf and jacket, setting them beside her as she dropped down onto the wooden bench in front of the adjacent row of lockers. They continued to banter back and forth as Booth sat down on the bench across from Brennan and removed his skates. He pulled a rag from his bag and wiped down the blades before sheathing the blades and boots in protective covers. Brennan watched as he subconsciously flexed his toes, relieved to have his feet out of the tight boot bindings.

The next article of clothing to come off was Booth's jersey. He pulled it over his head and tossed it onto his duffel as he started to wrestle with the straps that held his elbow pads in place. Automatically, Brennan moved closer to give him a hand and together they pulled off his elbow and shoulder pads, leaving his upper torso covered in just a thin, form fitting undershirt.

"I can do this myself, you know," he told her.

"Yes. I know. But since I'm here, you don't have to."

Booth just grunted and accepted her assistance.

"You certainly had to wear a lot of gear just to make a single shot at the goal. Was it really necessary to put on all these pads and everything?" she asked, handing him one of his elbow pads to put away.

"It's the principle of the thing, Bones. It had to _feel_ authentic. Besides, I'd have felt naked out on the ice without all this stuff on which would have thrown me off my game, made me lose my focus."

Brennan shrugged as she sat back down beside him. "If you say so, Booth."

'I do," he responded, pulling his undershirt over his head.

By this point in their relationship, Brennan had seen Booth without a shirt at least a few thousand times, but that never seemed to matter. She still thought he was beautiful. His skeletal structure was pleasingly proportioned and he kept fit enough that his musculature was still well defined, especially for a man in his mid-forties. The numerous scars that covered his torso were testaments to his honor and his will to see justice done, no matter the cost. As such, they didn't detract from his physical perfection at all in Brennan's mind. To her, they just reaffirmed his prowess as a dominant male warrior.

But today, by his actions on the ice, she was reminded once more that he was beautiful on the inside too. Booth was a good man. She'd always known that, but that didn't diminish the pride she felt in him or how her heart metaphorically swelled with love for him when he acted in a manner consistent with that aspect of his nature. Her knight-in-shining-FBI-armor had slayed another dragon tonight - one that had been tormenting Daryl Patterson for years, symbolically speaking, of course.

She was suddenly filled with an urgent desire to convey to him exactly how wonderful she thought he was.

It wasn't until Booth stood up with the intent of removing his pants and stockings that the atmosphere between the partners shifted perceptibly. He reached for the laces at his waist, but Brennan beat him to it, swatting his hands away and reaching for the laces herself. Booth glanced down in time to see those long, slender fingers of hers squeeze free the fastening that kept his hip belt taught then pinch the ends of the laces that covered his crotch and tug gently, undoing his knot. When she slid a couple fingers under the laces, the back of her fingers brushing his lower abdominal muscles, and tugged, loosening the strings, he couldn't help but suck in a breath. Just like that and it seemed as though the blood in his veins changed direction, all headed to a party at the juncture of his thighs. He felt his erection start to rapidly grow.

"Bones?"

"You are a beautiful man, Booth." His pants now loose around his waist, she gently began to tug them downward.

"Uh, Okay. Thanks?" He felt his underwear start to slip with the pants, the friction between the two garments keeping them together, and tried to reach for them. She pushed his hands away again. "Um. What are you doing, Bones?"

Booth saw her lips twitch, the corners tilting up slightly in a smile. "If you have to ask, I must not be doing it well enough yet." She leaned forward and licked the freshly exposed skin, just below his navel before dropping nibbling kisses on his skin along the edge of his groin area while she finally finished fully divesting him of his hockey pants and underwear.

Booth's hands grasped for her shoulders, not sure if he wanted to push her away or pull her closer. Well, that's not entirely correct or truthful. He definitely _wanted_ to pull her closer, but his mind was telling him he _ought_ to push her away. He did neither.

"Oh, Jesus," he groaned when she planted a chaste kiss on the tip of his penis, her tongue just barely darting out to sweep up the first drop of pre-cum that was oozing from the tip. "Someone could come in at any moment, Bones!"

The fingers of her right hand trailed up the inside of his now naked thigh, only stopping when she reached his testicles and cupped them in her palm. "True, but I calculate the odds of that occurring are very, very low."

Booth's head fell backwards and his hips thrust forward when he felt the warm heat of her mouth engulf his throbbing cock, trying to ignore the slight edge of excitement that came from knowing there was a possibility they could be discovered. Her lips slid down his shaft, then up, then down again as her tongue worked magic along his length. _Dear God, she knew exactly how to draw out the maximum amount of pleasure for him._ A PhD in kinesiology combined with several years' worth of experimenting on him in just this manner and her skill was unparalleled. Resistance was futile.

One hand gently cupped his testicles, expertly squeezing and massaging the hard balls inside in a manner that sent flames of pleasurable sensation flickering through his body and her other hand was wrapped around the base of his penis, stroking and stimulating the couple of inches that didn't quite fit inside her mouth. No part of his cock was left unattended.

Booth's fingers thread through the soft waves of Brennan's auburn hair as he cupped her head in his palms and started to thrust back at her. His body craved the sensations she was creating too much and he couldn't hold on to his self-restraint enough to let her do all the work without reacting. It simply felt too good to just stand still and he felt his control slipping away. At this first sign of him losing all his inhibitions and restraint, Brennan hummed encouragingly and increased her tempo to match his natural pace. Her hands and lips grasped and suckled him with an increased aggression as the intensity of feelings and sensations built inside him, pushing him towards that ultimate pleasure.

The fact that Booth knew Bones loved him and that she enjoyed servicing him orally like this almost as much as he enjoyed it was an extremely potent aphrodisiac. He knew that if he could see her bare nipples right now, they would be pebbled to hard little nubs reflecting her mutual arousal . . . and that beneath her jeans, the lips of her pussy would be swollen with her desire, her panties soaked with her own creamy essence. Thinking of her body and how gorgeous it was to look at when flushed with the evidence of her desire for him was the final straw for Booth.

"Booones," he groaned. "I'm about to cum."

Brennan didn't relent. She made a growling noise in the back of her throat to acknowledge him, but that was all, and the vibrations resonating through his cock from that were enough to push Booth over the edge.

"Bones! . . . Oh, God," he felt his balls contract. "I'm gonna . . . .ooooh. Yes!" His seed shot forth like a lightning bolt. "Aaaaah, fuck. Yeah, baby. That's it . . . . Oh, yeah." Brennan kept sucking, swallowing his cum as several spurts burst forth until Booth was spent.

When it was obvious the storm had passed, Brennan released her husband with a soft, delicate kiss and reached down around his feet to pull his underwear back up his legs, tucking him in with a gentle caress. Booth's fingers were still clenched in her hair and it took a couple minutes plus several deep breaths before he was able to relax his grip and let go, dropping down with a plop onto the bench beside her.

"Jesus, Bones," Booth gazed at his wife. Her face was flushed and her pupils were still a little dilated. Her lips were slightly swollen and glistened in the fluorescent locker room lights with moisture, a combination of her fluids and his, he was sure. "That was . . . amazing. Simply amazing."

Brennan smiled. " _You_ are amazing, Booth, and I wanted to do something just for you. Have you ever had a sexual liaison in the locker room before?"

Booth laughed. "No, of course not."

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"I'm a guy, Bones. Of course I've thought about it. Back when Wendell and I played regularly on a team, I had some very explicit fantasies about locker room sex with you even, especially after that time you barged in on us."

Brennan preened at the thought of him fantasizing about her before they were a them. "Well, now you have a memory, not just a fantasy. Put your pants on and let's go get that celebratory drink we discussed earlier."

Booth reached for his jeans, pulling them up his legs while Brennan folded his hockey pants and tucked them into his duffel. "I think I'd rather take our celebration back home, Bones, and continue what you started here." Booth grinned at her lasciviously and waggled his eyebrows. "Max has the kids for the night so you're not gonna be safe from me anywhere in the house."

Brennan wrapped her arms around one of his once he tossed his duffel bag over the other shoulder and heaved an exaggerated sigh as they left the locker room behind. "I suppose if you'd rather spend the night bringing me to orgasm, I can accommodate the change in plans without too much complaint."

Booth laughed. "I know. How about we make a trade? For every book you pick out to give up, I'll give you an orgasm. No books to part with, no orgasms."

"What? Booth, no. That makes no sense at all . . . "

. . . . and the bickering continued as they walked together, arm in arm, out into the night.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Hope you liked it. Comments are always welcome._


End file.
